


The Bed

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [70]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M learns something that shocks her to the core, and Bond helps her to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts), [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/gifts).



> The final fic in the post-Quantum of Solace series that I didn't mean to write... (The other four are [The Bath](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2066580), [The Desk](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2125977), [The Wall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2131320), and [The Chair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2135949).)

It's six months since M's husband, Reg, died. He'd gone suddenly – a heart attack, the doctor had said, and M had been selfishly glad it was so sudden, rather than a lingering illness. She knows Reg would be glad to have gone so quickly – he'd always said that if he developed something terminal, she should not let him linger to be a burden to both of them.

Everything at work is currently quiet, just for a change, so M's taken a long weekend off work to visit the Oxfordshire cottage she and Reg had bought for their retirement, back before M had been made head of the Secret Intelligence Service, back in the days when she had believed that early retirement might be an option. She and Reg had spent occasional long weekends up there when she'd been able to get away from work, but now she's not sure whether to keep the place, rent it out as a holiday cottage, or sell it and find herself a smaller flat in London. She hopes this weekend will help her to decide what to do.

She hasn't told anyone except Tanner where she's going: her Chief of Staff needs to know, just in case something really serious arises, but she doesn't anticipate it as she knows he's more than capable of dealing with anything that might come up. 

She'd considered inviting Bond to go with her, but in the end she had decided to go alone: her illicit sexual relationship with 007 does not trouble her conscience, although she knows it should, but she feels that having him with her would just be a distraction since she has Reg's paperwork to sort out, and she anticipates this will take a considerable portion of the weekend.

The weather is sharply cold, and the forecasters are talking about snow in the north of the country and Scotland, but M doesn't anticipate seeing any this far south, and she relishes the bright wintry sunshine as she drives up from London via the A-roads.

She arrives in time for lunch on the Friday, and contemplates having a pub lunch first, but she's brought a hamper of food with her, and if she goes to the pub, she'll probably get cornered by some well-meaning local who'll want to talk, and it'll take up more time than she wishes, so she decides that she may go there for lunch on Sunday, depending on how much she's got through in the meanwhile.

007-M-007-M

By five o'clock on Saturday afternoon, M's sorted out all of Reg's clothes, not that he'd left vast amounts of it at the cottage, but he had come here to work at intervals, finding the quiet of the countryside more conducive to writing his economics essays and books. She's also sorted out the bulk of his paperwork, shredding whatever wasn't important, and boxing up his notes – he's left all of that to the archive at LSE, and she makes a mental note to arrange for someone from LSE to come and collect them as she doesn't want to drag them back to London herself.

She's just realised that she ought to decide what she wants to eat for supper when a cheery female voice rings through the cottage.

"Coo-ee, Reggie! Where are you, you bad boy? And why didn't you ring me and let me know you'd be here this weekend?"

M feels her jaw drop as the bedroom door is flung open and a brassy blonde, whose hair colour definitely comes from a bottle, is revealed; she's about Bond's age, M supposes, and wearing a bright pink halter top, and a tight black leather mini-skirt, topped by a fake-fur coat that doesn't look warm enough for the weather. Glancing down, M notes four inch heels on knee high leather boots, and fishnet stockings between the top of the boots and the hem of the skirt.

"Oooh!" shrieks the blonde, clearly as perturbed as M. "Who are you?"

"I might ask the same question," M retorts, her tone as frigid as the external temperature. "After all, this is my cottage."

"Your – " begins the blonde, then proceeds to splutter incoherently before she manages to utter the words, "You're her – Reggie's wife. The civil servant."

"And who might you be?" asks M, although she suspects she knows the answer, and she finds herself appalled – not by Reg having an affair (though that is a surprise), but by his execrable taste. What on earth, she wonders, did this woman offer that M couldn't, then flinches mentally at the thought that it was probably the blonde's attention and free time that had appealed to him. 

"I'm Rita," the blonde answers, "Reggie's friend."

M barely suppresses a snort. "Friend, as in fuck buddy, I presume?"

The woman bristles, but M stares at her, one eyebrow arched, and after a moment she concedes with a terse nod.

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you that Reginald died six months ago," M says.

Rita looks stunned, then bursts into tears and turning on her heel so swiftly she almost falls out of her shoes, flees out of the bedroom and down the stairs, still sobbing noisily. M hears the kitchen door bang and winces as it reverberates through the cottage, then she sits down on the edge of the bed. She feels stunned by the revelation that her husband had been having an affair and that she hadn't noticed any signs, some spymaster she is, she thinks with a snort. She wonders if it was simply Rita's availability that had caused Reg to fuck the woman, or the fact that she is also a good bit younger than Reg. She doesn't feel angry – after all, she had been cuckolding Reg with James Bond for months before her husband's death – but she does feel ashamed that she's always been too busy with her career to even notice what had been happening. 

"Oh Reg," she sighs, "I am sorry." She lies back on the bed, her thoughts whirring, and imperceptibly, she falls asleep.

007-M-007-M

M wakes to the realisation that she's not alone and she forces herself not to stiffen in surprise before a faint scent of aftershave tells her who's there in the dark room.

"What are you doing here, 007?" she demands, reaching out to flick on the bedside light. He's sitting on the floor, his back against the bedside table, looking comfortable in jeans and a thick sweater, and a fuzz of stubble on his face.

"I came to see you," he says. "You weren't in London when I got back from Scotland, and your passport was still in its usual place, so I deduced you were here."

She scowls down at him. She's not very surprised he knows about this cottage, for all that she's never mentioned it to him – he's far too good at discovering things about her private life – but she's a bit irritated that he let himself in.

"What time is it?" She hadn't anticipated falling asleep.

"Seven o'clock," he answers. He's watching her closely, she notices, and wonders why. "Are you all right? You don't usually fall asleep in the day time."

"I'm fine," she says, and sits up, then swings herself off the bed, and Bond stands. She looks up into his face and he gives her a half smile, then ducks his head and kisses her, his arms circling her body and bringing it closer to his. 

She wants to be annoyed with him for showing up here unannounced and uninvited, but his mouth is hot and needy, and her body is already responding with a strong surge of lust. She unfastens his jeans and shoves the thick denim out of the way so that she can get her hands on his cock.

He groans, then tumbles her back down onto the bed, quickly getting her trousers and knickers out of the way, before moving his body over hers. He slips two slick fingers into her pussy, and she realises that she hadn't even noticed him getting the lube out.

He fingers her and swiftly brings her to a climax, then he eases his fingers free and replaces them with his cock, and M moans softly as he thrusts inside her.

"Why aren't you in Scotland?" she asks, as he withdraws half way, then thrusts back inside with a soft grunt.

"Snow," he says tersely. "One instructor and two participants badly injured, so they let us go early."

His mouth covers hers and she kisses him back with as much fierce hunger as he is displaying; she has images in her head of Reg and Rita in this bed, and she wants to get them out of her head – fucking Bond here is as good a way to do that as any, she reckons, which is why she's secretly grateful for his unexpected, yet timely, arrival.

"Harder," she tells him, and his eyebrows rise, but he obeys, and she wraps her legs around his as he does his best to fuck her right through the mattress. She'll be sore later, she suspects, but right now she doesn't care; she focuses on James' blue eyes above her face, his look of intense pleasure means a lot to her.

007-M-007-M

"Not that I'm not always delighted to fuck you whenever you want," Bond says a while later as they lie, legs entangled, on the bed, "but what was all that about?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "That was about you being a good agent and fucking me," she answers.

"Olivia." She's surprised by his use of her first name, and by the gentle tone in his voice. "I'm more than a little familiar with the use of sex to deal with whatever's bothering me, and you know I'm always happy to fuck you any which way you desire, and if you don't want to talk about it, just say so. But don't try to fool me into thinking everything's okay when I know it's not."

She sighs. He's too bloody perceptive, and that's her fault – she should never have let him get so close to her – but it's too late for her to change that. She takes a deep breath, then tells him about her visit from Rita.

"What hurts the most?" asks Bond when she's finished. "The fact he had an affair, the fact he had it with her, or the fact you never realised he was having an affair?"

"Well, I can hardly object to him having an affair when I've been cuckolding him with you for a year. I think it's a combination of the second and third, but his choice of woman hurts the most – not the fact that she's so much younger, since you're so much younger than Reg yourself – but the fact that she's a bloody walking cliché."

"Ouch," murmurs Bond. He tightens the arm that's encircling her body and his free hand begins unbuttoning her shirt.

"James." She pushes his hand away and sits up, then gets off the bed. "When did you last eat?"

"Lunchtime."

She nods, then moves into the bathroom, and when she returns Bond has put his jeans back on. "Do you want me to go?"

She gives him a startled look. "No. I want to eat, and I assume you do, too, if you haven't eaten anything since lunchtime?" She pulls on her knickers, then her trousers, then looks up at him. 

"Yeah, I am hungry," he agrees.

"Come on then." She turns and makes her way out of the bedroom, and hears Bond following her.

007-M-007-M

After dinner, M loads the dishwasher; she'd left Bond in the sitting room with the television on, and had thought he was still there, but as she's bending down to put the final item into the dishwasher a hard body presses itself against her arse. 

"James!" Her protest is only half-hearted: his cock is very hard, even through his jeans, and his right hand cups her pussy through the fabric of her own trousers, his middle finger pressing between the lips of her sex.

"I've never fucked you in the kitchen before, have I?" 

"No. It's not exactly the most comfortable spot," she observes, then moans softly as he continues to finger her: the silk of her knickers is creating a wonderful sensation as it slides against her sex. 

"Nevertheless," he says. He unfastens her trousers, then pushes them and her knickers down to pool around her feet. His finger resumes its spot between the lips of her sex, while he uses his left hand to unfasten his jeans. He guides her to bend forward, holding onto the top of the dishwasher as he eases her legs slightly further apart, then guides his cock inside her throbbing pussy.

She moans, then pushes back, and his cock slides in until its buried to the hilt inside her. His fingers stroke her clit as he fucks her, and M knows she's not going to last long at this rate, even if James can, and she smirks when he chokes out her name as her pussy muscles tighten around his thrusting cock.

007-M-007-M

They sleep late on Sunday morning, and wake to a thin covering of snow that won't last once the sun's been on it. 

"Let's stay in bed today," Bond suggests when he returns from a trip to the bathroom.

"James." M protests, but will admit to herself that she's half tempted, especially when he curls his body around hers as she lies on her left side. His arms are around her middle, and his cock is swelling against her arse, and she's already aroused even before he starts fingering her pussy with his right hand, or toying with her breasts with his left. 

He lifts her left leg and pushes his cock between her legs so that it pokes out in front of her, as if _she_ had grown a cock during the night. She reaches down and begins stroking it, and he groans deeply. She can feel moisture pooling in her sex as he continues to finger her while she strokes his cock, then he rolls her over onto her belly and slides his swollen prick into her pussy as he lifts her up onto her knees. She pushes herself up onto all fours as Bond begins to fuck her properly at a slow, steady pace.

"You won't be thinking of them in this bed again," he tells her as he leans over her, his chest pressed against her back as he cups her tits and plays with them. She groans in response as her nipples tighten and he scrapes his teeth lightly on her shoulder as he begins to thrust slightly harder and faster.

"You'll be thinking of us," he says, "and all the ways I fucked you in this bed. This bed will become as significant to you as your bed in London before you go home on Monday." His pace is picking up and M feels her climax approaching more and more rapidly.

She comes with a cry, and Bond isn't far behind, and as he fills her with his seed, he tells her, "This bed is our bed now."


End file.
